


a setback or another comedown

by queenjameskirk



Series: how deep it goes [1]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, eddie would die for bill denbrough, it's fluff with a sad ending, that's the tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-17 03:28:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13068159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenjameskirk/pseuds/queenjameskirk
Summary: Bill has dark circles under his eyes.Eddie can't believe he let his friend's sickness fall by the wayside.





	a setback or another comedown

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hikash0](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hikash0/gifts).



> based on a prompt by an anon on tumblr about eddie trying to make bill feel better with pills and not realizing that sometimes the sickness is in your brain. also inspired by a message from E going "imagine bill sick. discuss" which finally made me kick my ass in gear and finish this prompt. 
> 
> dedicated to you, E, for being my Sad Bill Denbrough muse.

__but when i thought i was getting better  
i woke up on the ground  
an appointment or a disappointment  
a setback or another comedown  
as if i needed a reminder

_ -old friends, pinegrove _

 

Bill has dark circles under his eyes.

 

Eddie notices it third period, when Mr. Johansen tells the class to consult with their seat neighbors about tonight’s homework assignment. Eddie spins around in his desk and turns to see Bill with his head pillowed on his elbows. He raises his head when Eddie moves, blinking slowly and stifling a yawn.

 

“You okay, Bill?” Eddie asks, taking in his friend’s pale skin and tired eyes. Bill looks like he hasn’t slept in a week and Eddie can’t believe he’d missed Bill’s appearance when he came into class. Bill shrugs, just the lightest lift of his shoulder, and grabs his pencil. He looks between Eddie’s face and his blank notebook paper, bare of notes from the class period, and Eddie watches as Bill squints as if he’s having trouble focusing on what’s in front of his face.

 

“W-what are we s-supposed to be d-d-doing again?” Bill asks, and his voice is hoarse. Now that Eddie’s concentrating, he can tell that Bill’s throat rasps every time he takes a breath, like he’s got a sore throat. Bill winces as he swallows and that’s the final straw.

 

“You’re sick,” he says. His own tone is flat and Bill looks at him with wide eyes, as if Eddie’s a moment away from running. But Eddie’s been working on this lately and he would rather comfort his friend than worry about his own foolish irrational fears of sickness and disease. 

 

“I’m f-fine,” Bill promises, clearing his throat. It doesn’t make him sound any healthier and Eddie eyes him warily. Before Eddie can insist on marching Bill down to the nurse’s office personally, the bell rings and Bill gathers up his notebook and pencil case. He smiles apologetically at Eddie and books it out of class, leaving Eddie sitting at his desk feeling completely like he missed something.

 

He doesn’t have class again with Bill until sixth period Reading and by that time Eddie has completely forgotten about his earlier worry because Bill looks just fine. His skin is back to its usual color and he grins at Eddie when he walks into the room.

 

“Hey, Eds,” Bill says, voice strong, and Eddie forgets all about his fear. He smiles at Bill and sits down in the desk next to his and pulls out his homework. Every memory of Bill’s rasping throat and tired eyes disappears in a puff of smoke. 

 

The next time Eddie notices, it’s lunch time on a Tuesday and Bill has no lunchbox in front of him. He’s talking animatedly to Richie and Stan and no one else seems to notice he’s not eating. It’s not even like Bill forgot his box lunch and had to buy school lunch, Bill doesn’t even go through the line. He draws no attention to the fact he’s skipping lunch and that’s when Eddie notices his cheekbones. Bill has always been skinny, too lanky and tall to keep any meat on his bones, but god he looks downright scrawny now. His cheeks are sunken and his skin is pale and fuck, how could Eddie have forgotten? That class period where Eddie turned around to see Bill looking like death seems like years ago despite only being earlier in the week and Eddie can’t believe he let Bill’s sickness pass by the wayside. 

 

How did he miss Bill continuing to get sicker and sicker?

 

Eddie wonders if maybe this is all the after-effects of It, his ability to somehow miss his friend looking deader and deader. Is the fog convincing him Bill looks fine, looks healthy and alive until Eddie takes a closer look and sees his flushed cheeks and sweating hairline?

 

He waits for a lull in conversation and then slides a hair closer, blinking to see if somehow the fog comes back.

 

And it does. For one moment, when Bill tips his head back to laugh at something Richie says, he looks perfectly normal. His hair shines in the light and his eyes are bright but then Eddie blinks again and he’s dying.

 

It’s not like a nightmare, not like the way It manifested as the leper, because Bill looks like he’s actually dying, the slow way. There’s no over-dramatic pus and leathery skin and rattling cough. Bill just plain looks cold, looks pale and sad and sallow.

 

Eddie presses into Bill’s side, disguising it as reaching across him to grab one of Richie’s grapes, and tries to get a read on Bill’s temperature. He’s definitely feverish, his thigh hot even through his jeans and Eddie’s own slacks. Eddie doesn’t completely move back, stays pressed close to Bill, and pretends to listen to his and Richie’s conversation.

 

He feels it the moment Bill suppresses a shiver, clamps a hand down on his thigh to keep himself from shaking.

 

That’s the final straw.

 

“Hey Bill,” Eddie says, low enough that only Bill hears it. “Can I come over after school? I need some help with geometry homework,”

 

It’s only half a lie.

 

“S-sure, Eds,” Bill answers, smiling at him wanly. His lips are cracked and chapped and Eddie wants to look away, wants to look away and then come back to a healthy Bill. But he knows it’s a smoke screen, a fake memory trying to make him let Bill die.

 

Eddie would rather die himself than let Bill go.

 

“Great,” Eddie makes himself say, standing from the lunch table. “I’ll see you then,”

 

He grabs his backpack off the floor and slips it over both shoulders and makes to walk away.

 

“W-w-wait, Eddie,” Bill calls, pointing at Eddie’s abandoned half-eaten lunch tray. “Your lunch,”

 

“Not hungry,” Eddie says and shoots an arm out to move it into the empty space in front of Bill. “You can have it,”

 

Bill looks wary, looks like maybe eating would make him feel sicker, but Eddie’s first step in Getting Bill Well Again starts with fucking eating something.

 

“You can have it,” he repeats, but he phrases it like a command this time. There’s an edge to his voice and Bill doesn’t miss it. He nods, quick like lightning, and picks up Eddie’s fork. There’s a small bit of Eddie that shudders at the thought of Bill using his own used silverware but he pushes it aside if it means Bill gets his strength back up.

 

“See you later,” Eddie calls again and turns around smiling.

 

Eddie races home immediately after the final school bell rings. There’s no time to dilly-dally by his locker or shoot the shit with Richie and Ben at the bike rack. He runs to his bike and hops on, flying past the buses loading with tired kids and down the street. He cuts corners, biking over grass and curbs and almost hitting a couple of younger kids from the elementary school down the street.

 

He rides like a madman and there’s a familiar voice inside him laughing, chuckling out “Hi-Ho Silver, away!” as Eddie ignores the burning in his chest and keeps biking through the tell-tale signs of a beginning asthma attack.

 

He drops his bike in the front yard, not kicking up the kickstand, and opens the front door as silently as he can.

 

Just like clockwork, his Ma is passed out in her recliner, daytime soap operas on in the background. He tiptoes past the door to the living room and makes his way to the kitchen.

 

He picks up a kitchen chair and sets it in front of the medicine cabinet, climbing on it so he can rifle around the shelves. He grabs Tylenol and a hot water bottle and a thermometer and fever reducer. He sets them all down on the counter below, trying not to clatter around too loudly, and goes back in for a second round. He gets a tub of petroleum jelly and Sudafed and children’s Motrin and Vicks vapor rub.

 

He picks up one of his prescription painkillers, with a name he can’t pronounce, and considers bringing it. Then he remembers DARE class, remembers Henry Bowers’ dad, Derry sheriff, telling them about the dangers of sharing prescriptions and how they can make you sicker. He sets the pill canister back down and steps off the kitchen chair, dragging it back to its place by the table.

 

He fills his backpack with all his supplies and runs upstairs to grab one last thing from his bedroom before leaving.

 

“Eddie, dear, where are you going?” He hears from the front room and sighs because he must have woken Ma up.

 

“Studying at Bill’s,” he calls back, hand on the doorknob.

 

“Eddie,” she warns and he sighs again. It’s not a concrete warning, he knows he could walk out and she wouldn’t do anything, but it’s the guilt that stops him. He drops his backpack at the door and drags his feet around the corner. HIs Ma is sitting up in her recliner now, a mug of cold tea clutched in her big hands.

 

Things between him and Ma changed a while ago, but she hasn’t changed her nature, not really. She’s just afraid of him now, afraid of the power he holds over her. Afraid because she knows he could leave at any minute and she would be wrecked.

 

There’s some part of Eddie that still loves her and that’s the thing he hates most of all.

 

“What, momma?” he asks and she flinches a little bit at his tired tone.

 

“Will you be back for supper?” she asks and Eddie sighs again.

 

“Probably not, momma,” he answers truthfully, fulling expecting to be at Bill’s until late tonight.

 

“You know I don’t like you riding your bike late at night,” his Ma says. “Not when it gets so dark this time of year,”

 

“I know, Ma,” he says.

 

There’s a moment, a beat of them staring each other down and waiting for the other to concede. Eddie could play this game all fucking day, mainly because he knows his Ma is _weak_ and that’s a particular trait he did not inherit.

 

“Be careful,” she commands finally, looking down into her tea. Eddie considers her, with her frizzy hair and big glasses and thick fingers. He remembers a childhood full of being terrified of her and yet so willing to do anything to please her and wonders maybe if that righteous love has shifted onto another person in Eddie’s life. He thinks maybe he traded her in for a boy who loves him back softly, without her fear and desperation. 

 

“I will,” Ed says and spins on his heel to go back outside.

 

“I love you!” she calls after him, a little desperate.

 

Eddie doesn’t reply. He just grabs his backpack and lets the front screen door slam shut behind him.

 

When he gets to Bill’s house, the front door is unlocked. He lets himself in and deposits his shoes by the front door, backpack rattling as he walks down the short hallway into the living room.

 

There’s a melody drifting through the house and Eddie figures it must be Mrs. Denbrough but it’s unpracticed and little rough and Eddie follows it to the dining room to find Bill sitting at the piano bench, plucking at the keys. His shoulders are hunched, spine pressed against the fabric of his shirt and showing every bone. He takes a breath and straightens when he hears Eddie enter the room but it doesn’t make his chest look any stronger.

 

“H-hey, Eds,” he greets, quiet. The lights in the dining room are off and though it’s nice outside, the room doesn’t have any windows and is dark and cold. Bill runs his hands over the keys and starts playing something sad and slow.

 

“Haven’t seen you play piano in a while,” Eddie says, remembering the days when he used to come over here for piano lessons years and years ago, sitting on the bench next to Mrs. Denbrough and feeling her hands over his as she taught him basic chords.

 

“I’m r-r-rusty,” Bill jokes, grinning at Eddie.

 

Now that he’s here, in Bill’s cold house, Eddie thinks he figured out how Bill got this sick, got this bad without anyone knowing.

 

“Your parents at work?” Eddie asks and Bill purses his chapped lips and shrugs, just one shoulder.

 

Eddie hums in response, furrowing his eyebrows, and Bill closes the piano cover over the keys.

 

“So, g-geometry?” Bill asks and Eddie nods. He hopes when he lifts his backpack up that it doesn’t rattle too much.

 

“Your room?”

 

Eddie’s looking for an entry, looking for the perfect moment to spring his Plan on Bill, but there’s just no opening. Bill’s voice is steady when he shows Eddie how to do equations and draw graphs and he doesn’t shiver when he’s sitting cross legged in his own bed.

 

Eddie spins around in Bill’s desk chair and tries to seem like he doesn’t understand his homework even though he does.

 

Then Bill starts clearing his throat after every few sentences. It starts slow, just like he’s maybe getting a little tired of talking, but Eddie knows better. He offers Bill a drink from his water bottle and Bill takes it, wincing at he swallows.

 

Bill sniffs and goes back to teaching.

 

Then the coughing starts.

 

It’s slow again, just a few short bursts here and there. It’s dry, like he’s maybe choked on his drink of water or something, but it gets harder and wetter as he keeps coughing.

 

“Bill?” Eddie says, looking at him in concern as Bill’s face goes bright red. It’s a real whooping cough, the kind that Eddie knows hurts like a fucking bitch deep in your chest. Bill sucks in air and covers his face, turning it into his shoulder as his entire body rocks with the effort of coughing.

 

He finally stops, taking a big drink out of Eddie’s water bottle and he’s almost finished all the water at this point. He looks at Eddie, red-faced and with tears in his eyes, and that’s the final straw.

 

“Alright,” Eddie says, standing from the desk chair and grabbing his backpack. He plops it down on Bill’s bed, rattling the whole way, and zips it open.

 

“W-what’s that?” Bill asks and his voice is shot, scratchy and hoarse and it grates against Eddie’s ears.

 

“Bill, when was the last time you slept the night through?” Eddie asks, pulling the thermometer out and taking the cap off.

 

“W-what?” Bill asks, looking startled.

 

“Nevermind, don’t talk,” Eddie says and shoves the needle under Bill’s tongue. Bill tries to respond but Eddie physically clamps his lips shut. Bill’s chin is clammy under his fingers and Eddie feels the tremors of Bill trying not to shiver, especially noticeable when he’s this close.

 

They wait in silence until a beep rings out from the thermometer and Eddie takes it out carefully.

 

100.3. Not particularly dangerous yet, but certainly not good.

 

Eddie hides the results from Bill and tries to think of what he shoulddo first. Medication? Pile of blankets? Bath? More water?

 

He presses closer to Bill and the other boy is leaning into it now, tipping his head down to rest against Eddie’s shoulder and his breath rattles when he inhales. It’s almost like he’s giving in, relieved to finally receive some care and the thought of Bill suffering alone all this time is like a knife to Eddie’s stomach.

 

Bath, then.

 

“I’ll be right back,” Eddie says and Bill almost whines in his throat when Eddie moves off the bed. He digs in the bag again and pulls out some children’s Motrin.

 

“Take two of these,” he commands and Bill nods at him. His movements are sluggish, sleepy, and Eddie knows he’s giving in and letting himself be taken care of.

 

Eddie tracks down the hallway to the bathroom and starts a bath running, testing the temperature of the water with his fingers. He wants it hot, but not too hot. When he deems it fine he plugs the tub and pours in a generous amount of bubble bath, aromatic and soothing. He leaves the room, closing the door so the steam stays in.

 

Then he runs downstairs with a towel in hand, down to the kitchen. The basement door is closed, having been remodeled after the floods of that Summer. The kitchen floor under Eddie’s feet creaks as he takes careful steps toward it.

 

“It’s for Bill,” he says and reaches out to turn the doorknob.

 

The darkness seems to almost seep out of the basement, leeching into the kitchen with reaching tendrils. Eddie blinks and it retreats, his eyes maybe adjusting to the darkness or perhaps the magic is just shrinking back. 

 

He flicks the stairway light on with a flinch.

 

The stairs are new, carpeted, and beige. Eddie steps down onto the top step and it doesn’t feel a moment away from giving out under Eddie’s feet like he remembers the stairs used to.

 

He runs down them, a childish fear keeping him from peering in the dark corner of the basement, and opens the door of the clothes dryer to toss a few towels and blankets in.

 

He sets the timer for thirty minutes and looks a moment longer to make sure he got it right before turning and running back up the steps. His feet are silent on the stairs and that scares him more than a thundering run would. It seems like anyone could be following him back upstairs now and he would never know until it was too late.

 

He forces himself to close the door without looking back behind him.

 

Once back upstairs, he checks on the bath. The bubbles are big and smell amazing and the water is hot enough that Eddie knows it’ll do the trick. He leaves the bathroom again, trying to keep the steam in, and returns to Bill’s room.

 

His backpack is still on the bed, different medications spread out around Bill’s hunched form, and Bill seems to be dozing. It’s not sleep, not real rest at all, because it’s fitful. His eyebrows are furrowed and his lip is caught between his teeth.

 

He lets out a low sound and Eddie taps on the door to wake him.

 

“Bill,” he says and Bill’s eyes open. They’re hazy, unfocused, and Eddie really wonders how he missed it for so long because Bill’s eyes aren’t as blue as they used to be. How did Eddie not noticed the light leaving Bill’s eyes?

 

Eddie steps forward and reaches a hand out to steady Bill as he climbs out of bed. His shirt is sticking to his feverish skin and Eddie rubs a hand over his back as he leads him to the bathroom.

 

The door lets out a wave of steam as it opens and Eddie watches Bill take a deep breath of humid air and hold it in.

 

“You just get in the bath,” Eddie commands, voice soft. He doesn’t want to break the tentative trust in the air, the soft hesitance as Bill lets Eddie lead him around and take care of him. Bill nods, chin tipped down touching his chest and he looks over at the bathtub. Eddie shuts the door behind him and lets Bill get undressed.

 

While Bill takes his bath, Eddie returns to Bill’s bedroom. He gathers up all the meds back into his backpack and strips the sheets from Bill’s bed. They’re rumpled and pilled and Eddie wonders when the last time Bill’s mom did the laundry. He goes over to Bill’s closet and sees his pants and shirts folded haphazardly, clumsy like a kid would do, and Eddie thinks maybe Bill’s been doing all this by himself for a long time.

 

He remakes Bill’s bed with soft sheets he finds in the hallway linen closet. They’re a little musty and have spaceships on them, old and faded, but they’re clean and that’s what matters to Eddie.

 

The comforter goes back on, folded over so Bill can slip inside easily, and Eddie hears a faint beep from the dryer downstairs as it finishes the load.

 

The basement isn’t scary this time, partly because Eddie’s already conquered it, but also because he’s distracted by the warm feeling of taking care of Bill that’s settled itself in the pit of his stomach.

 

The blankets and towels are hot and Eddie runs back up the stairs, hoping to keep them that way by pressing them against his chest.

 

He knocks on the door to the bathroom, Bill calling out a faint “come in,” and he swings the door open.

 

Bill’s got his knees drawn up to his chest, shoulder’s slipped down and submerged in the water. The steam curls around the air, fogging the mirror, and Bill’s cheeks are pink from the heat.

 

“Feel good?” Eddie asks, setting the warm towels down on the corner of the sink. Bill nods, splashing water around his chin. His hair is stuck to his forehead, hanging dull and limp and still dry around the crown of his head.

 

“You wash your hair yet?” Eddie asks and Bill colors deeper, shaking his head and looking down at the water. “You want me to?”

 

There’s beat where Eddie thinks he crossed the invisible line, went too far in his quest to take care of Bill. He thinks Bill’s going to throw him out and return to school tomorrow looking sicker and sicker and Eddie’s not going to be able to do anything about it because he weirded him out.

 

But Bill nods, shy, and accepts the invite.

 

It’s a little awkward, the placement of Eddie kneeling down at the side of the tub. Bill angles a little bit, turning around so his back is to Eddie, and his knees are still to his chest.

 

Eddie leans over and grabs the shampoo from the side of the tub and he uses the other hand to cup a handful of water to rinse Bill’s hair. Bill shivers as it runs down over his neck and Eddie shushes him soothingly, just a whoosh of breath out of his teeth.

 

He massages the shampoo into Bill’s hair and Bill relaxes bonelessly against the side of the tub. His knees fall to one side as he slides further into the water and Eddie peeks around to see Bill has his eyes closed, face lax as he leans into Eddie’s touch.

 

Eddie cups his hands and brings the soapy water up to wash the shampoo out of Bill’s hair. It shines in the light of the bathroom, finally clean and almost back to its usual luster.

 

This close up, Eddie sees the little bits of red in Bill’s hair, the highlights that he usually only sees in the summer when Bill spends a lot of time outside soaking up the sun.

 

He realizes it’s been a long time since he’s been alone with his best friend and Eddie suddenly misses that Summer long ago, the summer he spent riding at Bill’s side. It was the worst summer of his life but he sure did enjoy it, didn’t he?

 

When he blinks back to reality, Bill is dozing again. It’s a soothing sleep this time, his eyebrows relaxed and his hand on the side of the tub limp. Eddie doesn’t want to rouse him but the water is already cooling and Bill needs to sleep in his bed.

 

“C’mon, Bill,” Eddie says, quiet. He touches Bill’s wet shoulder and rouses him. Bill blinks hard and nods, dazed and sleepy. Eddie gets up and dries his arms on the hand towel hanging by the sink and then grabs the warm towels. They’ve kept their heat, held in by the steam of the bath, and Eddie hands one to Bill. He takes it and Eddie turns as he steps out of the bath. The water splashes as his weight displaces it, and Eddie turns back around to see Bill with the towel wrapped around his waist.

 

He’s too skinny. His ribs stick out and his collarbones are sharp and Eddie hates seeing him like this. He makes it his mission next time to get a fucking home-cooked meal into Bill.

 

He steps forward with the second towel and Bill furrows his eyebrows at him as he wraps it tight around Bill’s shoulders. The fabric isn’t as soft as Eddie would like it to be, still a little coarse, but it’s warm and it does the trick. Bill makes a humming sound low in his throat and leans into Eddie’s side as they leave the warm comfort of the bathroom and make the seemingly endless trek back to Bill’s room.

 

Eddie turns around again as Bill changes into a pair of pajamas, a matching set that Eddie remembers from sleepovers at Bill’s house. They hang off him now, too short in the legs and sleeves but too big in the chest and waist.

 

“Nap time,” Eddie says and Bill cracks a smile at him with heavy eyelids. Eddie watches as Bill pauses as he goes to crawl into bed, fingering the new sheets.

 

“T-these are Guh-Georgie’s,” he says and his voice is still hoarse but the steam seems to have made it better. Eddie takes in his words and freezes.

 

“I’m sorry, I grabbed them from the closet, I can get other ones,” he starts, rambling an apology out. The other sheets in the closet looked too big for Bill’s bed to Eddie but he guesses he could make them work by tucking them just right.

 

“N-no,” Bill says. He’s still looking down at them and Eddie feels like such a dick for making Bill sad when he’s already sick. “I love them,”

 

He sits down on the edge of the bed and Eddie remembers one last thing. One last thing his Ma used to do that actually made him feel better.

 

“Wait,” Eddie says and riffles around in his backpack again. He pulls out the tub of Vicks and tosses it to Bill. “Put some of this on?”

 

“Where?” Bill asks, looking down at the container in confusion. Eddie sighs, realizing he probably should have known Bill’s never used it before, and shoos Bill to scoot over.

 

“Turn around,” he commands and Bill does so, facing away from him. Eddie opens the container and scoops a generous amount of the goopey ointment out, warming it between his hands, and then plucks Bill’s shirt back and spread it over his back. It goes over his neck and down almost to his lower back.

 

Then Eddie makes Bill turn around so he can do the same to his chest, rubbing it over his clavicle and up around his throat. Bill closes his eyes as Eddie rubs the medicine in, eyelashes dark against his pale cheeks.

 

“Do you have warm socks?” Eddie asks, breath ghosting over Bill’s face. The boy doesn’t open his eyes as he nods, just points over in the vague direction of his dresser.

 

Eddie finds the warmest looking fleece pair and then rubs Vicks over the bottoms of Bill’s feet and covers them in the socks, squeezing Bill’s toes before straightening.

 

“Now nap,” Eddie says and Bill is all too ready to comply. He pulls the comforters around his shoulders and settles onto his side, facing the window. It’s almost evening, sun setting behind the rows and rows of houses, and Eddie turns the desk lamp off. He grabs the two blankets he put in the dryer, one from Bill’s floor and one he brought from home.

 

It’s his baby blanket, the tattered thing he has faint memories of dragging around behind him as a toddler. It’s old and stained but it’s always made Eddie feel better when he’s been actually sick. He never had any younger siblings to pass it down to but he supposes Bill is good enough for that. He tucks it up around Bill’s shoulders, Bill already halfway to sleep, and then steps back to admire his work.

 

He refills a glass of water and sets it by Bill’s bed, along with a pack of coughdrops and the tub of Vicks.

 

Bill’s bedroom door squeals as he shuts it behind himself and Eddie walks out of Bill’s house with the feeling of a job well done making his chest feel light.

 

He starts making a mental list in his head, bullet points of things he’s going to do next for Bill. A home-cooked meal tops the list, followed by maybe confronting Bill’s parents about treating him like a fucking ghost. Eddie already confronted his own Ma, surely the Denbroughs wouldn’t be too difficult for him. 

 

By the time he’s home, day dreams of yelling at Bill’s parents have already left his mind and been replaced by thoughts of other mundane things, like geometry and plans to see a movie with Ben this weekend. 

 

“How was Bill’s?” his ma calls as he walks through the front door and past the den. “What did you boys do?

 

Eddie frowns, just for a moment. There’s something at the back of his mind, the memory of something important that he did today. It feels like worry and comfort at the same time. 

 

It’s gone though, just another memory that Eddie has trouble recalling. That’s been happening to him a lot lately. 

 

“Math,” he yells back to his Ma and goes upstairs to his room. 

 

The next day, Bill walks into school looking healthier again.

 

He’s still skinny, arms small beneath the sleeves of his baseball tee, but his hair is shiny again. He’s got color in his face and he smiles at Eddie privately during third period, ducking his head to hide the blush on his face as Eddie tells him he looks well.

 

Eddie remembers his day yesterday then, remembers giving Bill the comfort he so obviously is being deprived of. 

 

Eddie’s so proud of himself that he doesn’t stop for a moment to consider if this is It at work, convincing him he’s healed Bill when actually Bill is just as sick as before. He doesn’t wonder if the sound of Bill’s voice, strong and healthy, is just the smokescreen at work.

 

The fog is thick again and Bill Denbrough is healthy in Eddie’s eyes once more.

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from "old friends" by pinegrove. im emo, i know. 
> 
> if you would like me to Make You Sad, consider sending me a prompt over on tumblr @cryingbilldenbrough i promise ill only kill eddie if u ask for it ;)


End file.
